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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778322">Legacy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping'>Reaping</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Create-o-Ween 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Morally Grey Derek Hale, Multiple Orgasms, Secret Relationship, Slayer Stiles Stilinski, Vampire Derek Hale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:47:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reaping/pseuds/Reaping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has borne the weight of his mother's legacy for a decade, has done his duty to protect the world from vampires and demons. He's tired, but mostly he's tired of trying to hide the part of him that wants a vampire in his life and in his bed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Create-o-Ween 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Legacy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Create-o-Ween 2020 (an event I'm doing with some friends) for the prompt Graveyard/Tombstone.</p><p>Stiles is kinda Buffy, Derek is kinda Spike. Obviously canon has nothing to do with this (but Kate was Derek's sire if you need to know that, though there's only a teensy hint of it - she'd be like Drusilla except I like Drusilla way better than I've ever liked Kate).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fog curls across the ground, tendrils reaching like grasping fingers. Stiles shivers in his hoodie, hand clenching around the stake in the front pocket. The moon is peaking through the clouds above, providing some extra light for which he's thankful. He may have slightly enhanced everything thanks to his mother's legacy, but he still has limits, is still mostly human. There's a low throb in his gut and Stiles tries to let go of his control some, tries to focus instead on the feeling tugging just behind his bellybutton, his body turning deeper into the graveyard, feet carrying him quietly across the dirt and over quiet graves.</p><p>The further he gets, the stronger the throb, until he wants to do nothing more than give in and curl around the pain. That won't stop it though, only the destruction of the unnatural creature causing it will give him the relief he needs. He crouches low when his ears finally pick up on the sounds of shifting dirt and scraping nails, maneuvering behind a tombstone until he's out of sight of the shifting grave. </p><p>A hand breaks the surface of the disturbed dirt, streaked by it, and it's soon followed by a second. Fingers scrabble for purchase, digging into the softly turned earth and helping the woman drag herself from the grave. He doesn't know her, has a minute to be grateful for that. He'd do his duty either way, but it's so much easier when he doesn't have to look at a monster wearing the face of a friend. Her throat is ravaged still, won't heal until she feeds for the first time, but his job is to stop that from happening.</p><p>It's not that vampires have to kill to survive - they don't at all - but most of them do. This one will, turned as she herself was murdered, her sire was half-crazed and fled when Stiles confronted him. There's a spark of madness in her eyes when Stiles chances a quick glance, lights on but nobody home in there. He'd hoped maybe she'd have kept some rationality, that maybe he could've taken her back to the Jeep for the blood bag instead of having to take her out, but that isn't in the cards. He knows that look, has scars enough from trying to pretend he could still save someone with it.</p><p>Stiles takes a deep breath before unfolding himself from behind the tombstone, waits for the newly risen undead to see him. He can tell the moment she does because she tries to shake off the dirt and smooth out her burial gown, cocking a hip and putting what she probably thinks is a seductive expression on her face - unfortunately her waxy pallor and mangled throat completely kill any attempt at seduction she's trying to manufacture. When he doesn't bite she narrows her gaze and starts to stalk towards him. He lets out another sigh and draws the stake from his pocket, hoping this doesn't take too long.</p><p>He’s anticipating it when she puts on some preternatural speed and comes flying at him over the graves between them, easily ducking and dodging. He used to love this part, back when he’d first started manifesting this side of himself, used to be so smug about how they’d underestimate him. Now though, he just wants to get this over and get out of the cold. He’s spent almost a decade shouldering his mother’s mantle. Sure, he’d met her legit replacement, had a lot of respect for the girl who’d come up without any knowledge or training, but his mother doing what she did had left him obligated. He’s not bitter or regretful, he’s damn grateful he’s been able to protect the people he cares about, it’s just that he’s tired. He’d thought, when the real slayer had managed to come into her power, that maybe he could help her and her watcher and then retired. He should’ve been able to. Except for the way his mother had pushed a spark of her power into him at the end, which meant they’d always come for him anyhow. The monsters. Which is why he was in the graveyard tonight, why he was hunting before this one figured out how to hunt him. All the thoughts spiraled through his brain in the few seconds he spent dodging the newly turned vamp’s clumsy attacks. The lack of a first meal left her weak and uncoordinated. He’d feel bad about it, try to talk some sense into her, but it’s like he already knows, there’s no humanity left in her - just the demon wearing her skin. Her face goes into a moue of disbelief when Stiles swings his right hand up and embeds the stake between her ribs, the tip piercing his heart.</p><p>“No fair.” Her voice is raspy, almost unintelligible - her sire had really done a number on her before the turning. Stiles just shrugs as her body seizes before crumbling to ash. He shakes off the stake, sliding it back into his hoodie’s pocket, and then does his best to brush stray ashes from his clothes, sneezing a few times. The ash thing is great for not having to worry about suspicious bodies, but he’s still got to handle the mess the woman had made of her own grave. The chill in the air is picking up, compounded by a rise in the wind and the dusting of misty sprinkles. He hurries back to the Jeep, grabbing out the handy dandy shovel he now carries around, and sets about pushing all the debris back into her grave before trying to make the dirt look like it hadn’t been disturbed from how the gravedigger had left it that morning. He really hopes there’s no reason for anyone to try to open it back up - doesn’t like to think of what the families of these people already suffer, let alone how much worse it is on the off-chance something causes an exhumation and they discover empty, broken caskets. Stiles shakes himself out of the sudden onslaught of melancholy that threatens him and pats the grave one last time with the shovel before moving back towards the Jeep.</p><p>There’s one stop Stiles has to make before he can go, despite the dampness now seeping through his clothes and adding to his overall chill. He always parks near his mother’s grave, can’t seem to help himself when he’s in this particular cemetery. He crouches in front of her tombstone, fingers tracing the fading lettering, forehead resting against the chilled granite. He knows she’s long gone, but he can’t help but feel the echo of her here. His fingers splay across the word mother and he taps his forehead against the stone before he stands and tosses the shovel into the back of Roscoe, climbing into the driver’s seat and wincing at the way his jeans stick and pull.</p><p>Stiles only hesitates for a few seconds when he gets to the cemetery’s exit, then he turns right and towards the loft hidden in the industrial side of town. He thinks maybe his mom would be disappointed in him if she were alive and knew, but also she’s the one who saddled him with this life so...she’ll just have to get over it, wherever she is. He forcibly turns his mind from those thoughts, following the familiar twists and turns when he gets closer to the loft. All the streetlights are broken out in the parking lot, but that isn’t new, and there’s only the faintest tug on his senses when he exits the Jeep, familiar and comforting though it shouldn’t be. The freight lift appears to be on the fritz again, but it doesn’t really matter, Stiles can run the stairs in his sleep at this point, barely breathing harder at all when he hits the top floor. The sliding metal door that closes the loft off from the rest of the space is cracked open, soft light filtering around the edges, and he pushes it open only enough to slip inside before closing it firmly behind him. He starts stripping as soon as it latches, dropping his damp clothes into a pile on top of his slightly muddy shoes. When he’s down to just his boxer briefs, he finally moves away from the door. He wants to hook a left through the massive hole in the wall, head to his goal, but he was out hunting tonight, needs to wash that off of him, so he resolutely heads towards the bathroom on the right, smiling when he realizes the shower is already running, water nearly scalding. He washes quickly, drying off with the fresh towel that had been left for him before wrapping it around his waist, leaving his underwear behind. Most of the lights are off in the loft when he reemerges, only a soft flickering coming through the hole in the wall. He shakes a bit more of the water out of his hair as he makes his way over and through, noting the candles lining the dresser, far enough away from the bed not to create a problem (hopefully).</p><p>“Long night?” The voice is soft, inquisitive but not accusatory. Stiles just shakes his head, because it hadn’t been. In the grand scheme, it was such an easy night honestly. He moves further into the room until his knees are brushing against the bedspread, sighing when he feels the body press against his back, a nose trailing up the side of his neck, fangs nipping gently at his ear as strong arms wrap around him, their coolness making him shiver again. “Don’t lie to me, Stiles.”</p><p>“Not lying, it was,” he hesitates because it feels wrong to say when he gave someone their final death, but truthfully it was, “easy.” The man behind him makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, tinged with disbelief.</p><p>“You hate when it’s easy. It makes you feel worse-” Stiles shrugs him off, turning.</p><p>“Don’t, Derek. Not tonight.” Thick brows raise but Derek tips his head to the side in acquiescence. Stiles can feel more of the tension leech out of him, allows it when Derek steps back in close and presses soft kisses to his lips. It’s nice, it feels good, but it’s not exactly what he needs right now. Derek seems to sense this, drawing back some.</p><p>“Not the man tonight then,” his face shifts, ridges twisting his features, fangs slipping down over his lips. “The monster instead.” Stiles shudders for an entirely different reason now, feels his blood thrum in his veins, the faint and familiar tug behind his bellybutton. He doesn’t know why Derek doesn’t give him the pain that other vampires do, why he never has, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. Instead he tilts his head back, showing his throat and feeling his cock fill as Derek runs his fangs along it. He won’t bite him, there’s no fear or worry of that, not in such a visible spot, not with who Stiles is, but he loves the sensations of it. Enjoys as Derek scrapes them over his skin, giving him the whisper of controlled danger. It’s even better when he’s lifted and flung backwards onto the soft bed behind him, his legs splaying after he lands, eyes going soft like liquid honey in the faint candlelight as Derek crawls up the bed towards him. There’s a snick as the tube of lube Derek keeps is opened, the squelch of him coating his fingers with it, and then he’s there between Stiles’ legs, pushing them further apart with his shoulders, baring him to Derek’s eyes.</p><p>One finger breaches Stiles as Derek noses along his cock, tongue flicking at it, teeth gently running along the length before Derek’s face slips further down. He laps at Stiles’ skin, the crease where his leg meets his groin, flickers his tongue over where he’s pushing a second finger inside of Stiles before turning his face to mouth at the inside of Stiles’ thigh. A third finger goes in as his fangs glide through the skin of Stiles’ leg, pinpricks of pain to distract from the stretch of his fingers that quickly turn to pleasure as he begins to suck. Stiles trusts him not to go too far, to know when to stop, though he shouldn’t. Derek’s not some magical vampire with a conscience, he’s done his fair share of evil over the years, especially when he’d still been under the thrall of the woman who’d turned him. She’d been an extra special piece of work but Stiles didn’t like to think about her, especially not when he was under Derek like this. A sharp nip to his leg and a jab of fingers against his prostate helped bring him back to the moment, body arching as Derek sucked harder at the punctures he’d made, fingers twisting in and out of Stiles’ hole with obscene noises. He couldn’t help but arch his back, body pressing down harder, trying to take Derek in deeper. His own cock was leaking against his belly, close despite mostly being ignored so far. </p><p>“Der, please.” The desperation in his voice earned him a smug look, Derek’s eyes glinting. He tilted his head, tongue lolling out and laving dirtily across the wounds in Stiles’ thigh. Stiles could see the trail of red that his blood left on Derek’s tongue, but it just made him more desperate to get Derek up and inside of him, his hands scrabbling at slick shoulders as Derek shifted around. If Derek huffed at him in amusement, Stiles ignored it, not caring so long as he got what he wanted. Derek flipped him with that preternatural strength he had, dragging Stiles up onto his hands and knees before wrapping around him, one hand steadying his cock as he slowly pushed it in, the other clamped tight over Stiles’ shoulder, arm firm against his torso. They both took a moment once he was all the way inside, breaths harsh in the otherwise quiet room, before Derek adjusted his knees and rolled his hips, free hand gliding over Stiles’ belly and up his chest to clamp on his other shoulder and give him the leverage he’d need to pull Stiles back onto his cock as he started thrusting in.</p><p>Derek fucks him hard and fast, fangs scraping and nipping at his back and shoulders, leaving a trail of messy bruises across his skin but rarely breaking it. The scent of sex and sweat was heady in the air, Stiles rocking himself back with abandon, only barely keeping to the rhythm of the push-pull of Derek’s thrusts, moaning out his enjoyment to the dim room. He can feel his body responding to getting what he needed, his balls drawing tight, the first rough glide of his palm over his own cock sending him tumbling off the cliff, come streaking the sheets beneath him. Derek draws up after that, his cock still thrusting into Stiles, though the pace slows some as he lets Stiles ripple his body around him, becomes almost gentle in tempo as Stiles comes down from his first orgasm. The fact that Derek doesn’t chase his own, that he keeps his movements steady and paced, means they’re not going to be done for a long while, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He knows from experience that he can go again soon, that it’ll be even more intense. Derek knows it too, seems to know Stiles’ body almost better than he does at this point.</p><p>It feels like hours later but is probably only minutes when Derek starts to snap his hips harder every few thrusts, cock angling to hit Stiles’ prostate, the stimulation a little too much so soon, though he doesn’t bother asking Derek to stop, doesn’t want to. He trusts Derek to give him what he needs, so he lets go completely, dropping his shoulders to the bed, arms folding to support his head, and feels himself open just that bit further. Derek’s strong hands wrap around his hips, fingertips digging in harshly as he speeds up his thrusts, fucking Stiles harder and faster than before, his cock feeling like a battering ram against Stiles’ prostate. It practically forces his cock to harden again, straining painfully as it slaps against his belly with each thrust, so sensitive Stiles doesn’t even want to touch it at all.</p><p>“Love it when you give in to me, let me take what I want. If only anyone knew, the mighty slayer on his knees for me, begging for my cock, needing what only I can give you, letting me take care of you.” Derek’s voice takes on a dark edge, words giving life to the secret thoughts inside Stiles’ head, the one that wonders what would happen if anyone knew where he was tonight, knew who he’d spent the last year fucking. He doesn’t even feel guilty about it, not really, a part of him wondering why none of them have even noticed. Wondering what it would be like if they walked in on it all, if he didn’t have to lie or hide, if he could just have this without any of the fear. It’s that thought, more than the cock in his ass, the sultry voice in his ear, that tips him over the edge again, body clenching around Derek, keeping him shoved in deep. Stiles can feel the throb of the cock inside him just before he halfway blacks out, knows Derek is coming too, and let’s himself go completely lax, his body sinking into the mattress.</p><p>When he comes back to himself, Derek is wiping him down with a warm cloth, mopping up the come and sweat before flinging it across the room and thankfully missing any of the candles. He drags the comforter down the bed, pushing and maneuvering Stiles until he’s underneath it, his muscled body wrapping around Stiles, getting Stiles’ head nestled beneath his chin. Stiles wants to protest, wants to drag himself out of bed and put on his probably still damp clothes and go home, where he belongs. He wants to but Derek is petting his hair and making soft shushing noises and...cuddling him. It’s weird and he opens his mouth to say...something, anything, but instead he hears the way his breath rattles in and then he feels the dampness on his own face and what the hell is happening to him.</p><p>“Shh, it’s alright. I know, I’ve got you.” Stiles turns his gaze up, catches Derek’s eyes and cannot for the life of him fathom what he thinks he’s seeing there. “It’ll be okay, you’re okay. You’re not wrong for wanting this, for wanting me, it’ll be alright, you’ll see.” When Stiles tries to open his mouth, to ask how Derek could possibly know any of this, he’s stilled by Derek’s lips on his, the kiss softer and more gentle than pretty much anything they do together normally. “Later, rest now, you’re safe with me.”</p><p>The words shouldn’t fit, not with what Derek is, with what Stiles is. But it loosens something in him, something he didn’t even realize was hurting for all this time. Everything isn’t magically better. It’s not going to be magically better after a nap. But maybe he doesn’t have to keep going on like this, maybe he can admit to what he wants, who he wants. Maybe he can stop hiding. His mother may have saddled him with her legacy, but that doesn’t mean he has to follow the rules she lived by. Maybe he can have something good for himself, even if that something good comes in the form of a morally questionable vampire who seems to know him better than he knows himself. There’s only one way to find out, but it can wait, because Derek is right, he’s exhausted. He snuggles close and lets himself fall over the edge into sleep, knowing Derek’s arms are tight around him, keeping him safe.</p>
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